Solitude (II) final part

   

‘& this vain world its pride its form
   ‘That treads on thee as on a worm
   ‘Its mighty heirs—the time shall be
   ‘When they as quiet sleep by thee’
   O heres thy comforts solitude
   When overpowering woes intrude
   Then thy sad thy solemn dress
   Owns the balm my soul to bless
   Here I judge the world aright
    Here see vain man in his own light
    Learn patience in this trying hour
    To gild lifes brambles wi a flower
    Take pattern from the hints thoust given
    & follow in thy steps to heaven

Solitude (II) part 5

    




















So leave wi silent long farwell
    Vain life—as left the snail his shell
    All this when there my eyes behold
    On every stone & heap of mould
    Solitude & thou art sweet
    Somthing solemn tho to meet
    When wi listning pause I look
    Round the pillars ruind nook

    Glooms revealing dim descryd
    Ghosts companiond by thy side
    Where in old deformity
    Ancient arches sweepeth high
    & the storms the painted pane
    Growls in angry mood again

Solitude (II) part 4

    While worms like me are mouldering laid
    Wi nothing set to say theyre dead
    All the difference trifling thing
    That notes at last the slave & king
    As witherd leaves lifes bloom was stopt
    That drops in autumn so they dropt
    As snails wi in their painted shell
    So snugly once was known to dwell
    When in the schoolboys care we view
    The pleasing toys of varied hue
    By age or accident theyre flown
    An empty shell & tenant gone
    So pass we from the worlds affairs
    & carless vanish from its cares

Solitude (II) part 3

    Turning there the nettles bye
    Where the grave stone meets ones eye
    Soon full soon to read & see
    That all below is vanity
    & man to me a gauling thing
    Ownd creations lord & king
    A minutes length a zephers breath
    Sport of fate & prey of death
    Neath the power of death the same

    As wants low wormlings are to him
    Tyrant to day to morrow gone
    All 'stinguished only by a stone
    That feign woud have the eye to know
    Prides better dust is laid below

Solitude (II) part 2

    

    Dizzy nauntling high & proud
    Top stone loosing in a cloud
    Where the cross to time resignd
    Creaking harshly in the wind
    Crowning high the rifted dome
    Points the pilgrims wisht for home
    While the look fear turns away
    Shuddering at its dread decay
    Then let me my peace pursue
    Neath the shades of gloomy yew
    Dolfull hung wi mourning green
    Suiting well the solemn scene
    There as I may learn to scan
    Mites illustrious called man

Solitude (II)

Many will now have at least seen Anne Lee's wonderful little book which contains the first half of the 1921 (Village Minstrel) poem 'Solitude', few however, will know the second half of that poem - A different work entirely in my opinion - so over the next little while I shall post it here.  Dark and gothic, it uses Peterborough Cathedral as its binding motive.  However, Clare's political opinions surface time and time again.  The version I will be posting will be that I transcribed from Clare's manuscript, not the version Taylor and Hessey published.

    But as sorrows more opress

    As the world does more distress
    Yielding as misfortunes lower
    Dulging mellancholys hour
    Wishing to despise as then
    Brunts of fate & scorn of men
    When fates demons thus intrude
    Then I seek thee solitude
    Where the abbys height appears

    Hoary neath a weight of years
    Where the mouldering walls are seen
    Hung wi pelitorry green
    Where the steeples taper stretch
    Tries the eye its length to reach

Round Oak (excerpt)

[Image: Shelly Rolinson]

& oft wi shepherds he woud sit to sigh

On past delights of many a by gone day

& look on scenes now naked to the eye

& talk as how they once were clothed gay

& how the runnel wound its weedy way

& how the willows on its margin grew

Talk oer wi them the rural feats of may

Who got the blossoms neath the morning dew

That the last garland made & where such blossoms grew

As how he coud remember well when he

Laden wi blooming treasures from the plain

Has mixt wi them beneath a dotterel tree
Drove from his cowslips by a hasty rain

The Village Minstrel (1821)